Continuing the story of Penelope Primrose, taking place during the start of the Beautiful Angels of Boxing Entertainment league. 

The author of these stories goes by the DeviantArt handle of thegeorgiapeach. Over the years, I’ve enjoyed his post-match analysis of B.A.B.E. matches very much. But now, he’s covered a year in the life of the former UK Foxy Boxing champion.

Without detracting from the current B.A.B.E. storylines and keeping true to (and in some cases building up) the personalities of B.A.B.E. fighters, this story presented an outsider (UK) view of what was going on with the league. These stories helped make my own fictional world seem more real to me! In fact, as far as I’m concerned, these stories are canon to my own stories.

This doesn’t usually happen but I was so into this storyline, that I actually wanted to help bring some of it to life. And with the author’s permission, I will be re-publishing these stories to the B.A.B.E. blog.

So, (around) every week, you can tune in here for the stories with some associated images. (Not everything will have images… just the action-oriented stuff! And, please, visit thegeorgiapeach‘s DA page for his stories and analysis. It’ll be worth your time!

Story by thegeorgiapeach and art by cpunch . (Please note, some of the images in these stories may have been previously published. Click the highlighted links below for refreshers as you go along.)
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“English Rose this! English Rose that! She’s everywhere!” And with that Penelope Primrose frustratingly tossed the sports section of The Daily Beacon onto the coffee table. She plopped onto a recliner and buried her face in her iphone, the smooth voice of David Kent, UK Foxy Boxing’s studio host, rambling on in the background.

Missy Edington rolled her eyes again, being careful not to let an ornery Penelope see her. Missy was slightly amused at watching another little ‘Penny Tift,’ as she called them. In the week following Penelope’s long awaited triumphant return to UK Boxing, with her second round knockout of the veteran Sophia Clarke, Penelope’s euphoria had slowly ebbed away. In Missy’s experience, the thin-skinned, yet pompous, Penelope always reacted this way when she read negative reports about herself. She had seen it during all the prep work and training following Penelope’s disastrous return against Sydney Smith – when newspaper articles and TV personalities continually lambasted Penelope’s recent form – pejorative mentions of ‘Porcelain Penny or Pudgy Bag,’ references to ‘Trixie Gate,’ and speculation that the Penelope Primrose of old was gone forever. But this was different. Penelope’s euphoria had turned to anger, fueled by jealousy. Penelope wasn’t mad about negative press, she was frustrated and annoyed at the lack of any press what-so-ever.

Missy had seen it coming; Kelly Fairchild was all the rage in the UK. No fighter since Primrose herself had so captivated the UK Foxy Boxing fans as Kelly Fairchild was doing now, and Kelly was now managing to dwarf the stardom that Penelope had ever achieved.

Missy muted the TV – just in time as another piece on Kelly Fairchild’s modeling background began to play – and sat up on the couch, ready to once again soothe Penelope’s ruffled feathers. “Penny, Penny Penny – why do you get yourself all atwitter? We’ve talked about this, for now, staying under the radar is good for you. Those bright lights can only be a distraction.”

“Yeah, well, after all the crap you made me listen to before my last fight . . . Well, I thought they’d find a little time to talk about my win! More than just a ‘by the way look who also won tonight . . .”

“Well Pen, you’ve spent more energy battling your frustration at your lack of media coverage than you did against Clarke . . . let’s not waste anymore of it. We’re going to cycle up the training again, and figure out your next step.”

“I already know the next step, I’ve told you a dozen times, and all this Fairchild talk makes it make more and more sense.”

“Penny, I know we’ve talked about it and the answer is still ‘No!’ You’ve won once, that is hardly momentum – move on to some middle tier girl . . .”

Flipping her iphone aside Penelope interrupted Missy, “And watch Fairchild grab hold of that title before me! Nope, I’ve got to show those folks over at UK Box that I am ready now . . . and this fight puts me back into the conversation . . .”

“Where’s the fire Penny! Remember the plan? Build you back up to what you were. No shortcuts, No corners cut . . . Your fight with Syd wasn’t all that long ago, and that was a middle tier fighter . . .”

“Missy . . .”

“. . . So prove you can beat that type of fighter and . . .”

“Missy! You know better than most folks, time waits on no one! We’ve got to accelerate this process – or there’ll be two more ‘Fairchilds’ coming along to contend with. You’ve said so yourself, UK Boxing is just getting stronger and stronger, as it is everywhere – I said it after calling her fight with you, I said it to you in the locker room after beating Clarke, and I am saying it now. I want Chantelle Daniels next!”

The ‘Two-headed Beast’ that was Penelope when she combined her penchant for being headstrong with her tendency for being impatient was staring back at Missy now. Missy had been saying ‘No’ a lot in the past couple of months to Penelope, and to Penelope’s credit she had followed every order of hers. Missy reminded herself to tread carefully. “Penny, as long as you are doing this for the right reasons . . .”

“I am . . .”

“. . . NOT your ridiculous wounded vanity of Fairchild getting the full share of media coverage or your wounded pride in Chantelle referring to you as a ‘Hot Mess’ over and over again, or any other foolish ideas you’ve concocted in that mind of yours, I will make some inquiries on your behalf with Chantelle’s camp, but . . .”

“That’s . . .”

“BUT . . . we will not chase media coverage. You will train even harder than you’ve been doing, and you will not get your panties in a tither over all the exposure Fairchild is getting. She’s the real deal, she deserves it, and she is nothing but great news for UK Foxy Boxing, and that is what you’ll say when and if anyone asks you about . . . The English Rose!”

“I was . . .”

“Good! We are agreed!” And Missy rose from the couch and headed for the door, “I’ll see you early tomorrow morning . . . going home to make some calls . . . And you, just enjoy your win for what it was, the first step in your new journey.” Missy waved goodbye and slid out the front door.

Penny sat on the recliner staring at the ‘vapor trail’ Missy just left as she exited. She smiled a bit, knowing she was going to get what she wanted – a fight with Chantelle Daniels – if of course Chantelle was not too afraid to face her. If they met in the ring in five weeks, Chantelle would be coming off a longer break since her last bout, but she would be coming off a devastating knockout loss to Mace and the loss of her crown. So Penelope knew, as much as she needed a big win to get back on that UK Foxy Boxing Marquee, Chantelle did as well. With Fairchild on a historic and unprecedented run up the UK ranks, both she and Chantelle needed to manufacture some good press of their own or they would be left in Fairchild’s wake on their race to Morgan Mace. Penelope chuckled at her use of the word ‘press,’ but she knew, getting your name on the minds of media and fans was the surest way to get what you wanted. It surely wasn’t hurting Nikita Drago over in B.A.B.E. or Shalice Kassem over in Egypt.

Penelope smiled and sauntered off to her bedroom. As she readied for bed she thought to herself, ‘My little ‘tiffs’ are starting to finally work on Missy as they had on Mac all those years ago. Penelope Primrose gets what she wants when she wants!’ Her final thought as she flickered off to sleep was “I am the English Rose . . .”

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Due to Missy Eddington’s work schedule with British Sports Network (BSN), and her commentary for UK Foxy Boxing, Penelope started to train more at the UK Foxy Boxing gym. It was more to accommodate the logistics of Missy’s schedule, which also included a meeting today with Chantelle Daniels’ mother and manager, Ophelia Daniels. The Daniel’s had been dancing around Missy’s initial inquiries for about a week, and inside the UK Foxy Boxing gym the scuttlebutt was that the Daniel’s were looking for a bigger ‘payday.’ Having been rebuffed by Mace for an immediate rematch, rumor had it that the Daniels’ wanted to fight Kelly Fairchild, but were balking at small things like refusing to be announced to the ring after Fairchild. The gossip in camp was that Chantelle didn’t really want to fight Fairchild, at least not without a title at stake. So, Missy had finally gotten the ear of Ophelia and set up today’s meeting.

Penelope, meanwhile was working on a little Muscular, Strength and Endurance in the gym, when suddenly her headphones were snapped off from behind.

“Well, well! Long time no see in these parts Primrose . . .You scuttled back from America with your head between your legs, floating all the way on that spare tire of yours!”

Penelope turned around at the Irish-tongued taunt,, and came face to face with an unfamiliar red-headed woman. She had half expected Rose McKenna, and was a little relieved when it wasn’t.

“Ya remember me lassie?”

Penelope could not recall who this woman was, but figured she would play the locker room trash-talk game a bit. She’s missed locker room back-and-forth.

“Should I? But then again, there are so many of you Irish red-heads, what?”

“Kelly Kearney’s the name . . . ya remember the name?!”

“We all know Kelly Fairchild – have you met “The English Rose – she’s ‘the real deal! Quite unfortunate you share a name, makes it really hard to remember there’s another Kelly out there.”

“Ya haven’t changed your still an arrogant wrench . . . I heard ya lookin’ for a fight! How’bout me . . . or are ya gonna feign another excuse?”

A faint memory of who Kearney was flashed in Penelope’s mind – an up and coming fighter back in her time as UK champion, related to Rose McKenna somehow, if she remembered correctly. A bulked up version of the cloudy image of a slender Kearney in her mind, “Aren’t you Rose McKenna’s niece or something . . . Nah, I’ve better things coming my way. Say, what is it with you McKenna . . . Kearney . . . red-head Irish ladies always angling for fights in locker rooms and gyms against fighters far above your pay grades . . .”

“Let’s do it, Primrose . . . me and you, now!”

“There’s my manager . . . got a meeting to go to! We’ll do this again sometime, have your manager call my . . . wait, you do have a manager right? Toodles McKenna Jr.”

Penelope swirled and high tailed it over to Missy who was coming through the swinging doors, ‘That was fun she thought . . .” but then shuddered a bit as she glanced at the red face of rage that stared at her as she walked away.

“What was that all about?” Missy asked.

“Just a friendly conversation.”

“There’s nothing friendly about that one . . . she scares folks around here! Come on, let’s head up.”

“Just a second,” Penelope replied as she snuck into the little Food Mart that abutted the gym. “Going to get me a bag of pastries and the largest coffee I can find!”

“What?! No . . . your training!”

Penelope revelled at the horror in Missy’s eyes, “Don’t worry Missy, it is just for show! If Chantelle thinks I am a ‘Hot Mess’ I might as well play the part in the meeting! I’m not going to eat it!”

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Chantelle and Ophelia Daniels were sitting on a couch in an executive lounge in the UK Foxy Boxing Arena when Penelope and Missy walked into the meeting. When they stood up to engage in greetings, to Penelope it looked as though she was looking at a ‘Before and After’ image of the same woman.

Ophelia was the same tall height as Chantelle, long legged, with the same long platinum blond hair, though where Chantelle wore it in her customary long braid from the top of her head, Ophelia wore hers in a bun. Ophelia still exuded youth, and though she had the same frame as Chantelle, it had given way a bit to middle-aged spread. They both wore matching white form fitting halter tops, though Chantelle wore a gold silk mini skirt with it while Ophelia wore gold capri’s. Penelope found it a bit amusing to look at. Formal greetings were commenced with and all four of them sat at the conference table.

“Well – Primrose! It is good we have a table here for all your . . . things!” Chantelle purred as she sent a snide look to Penelope’s coffee.

“Want some – I’ve already had two, so I am quite stuffed . . .”

“No I do not – disgusting!” With that Chantelle sat back in her swivel chair and turned it to face the window. Ophelia, looking from Chantelle than to Missy seemed just as annoyed as Chantelle to be there.

“Thank you for sitting down with us today – I think we can arrange something that will be beneficial to all of us,” Missy began. “We know you’ve been trying to work on a deal to fight Fairchild, and that those plans have fallen through. Surely you heard the news an hour ago . . .”

“Yes we have,” responded Ophelia.

‘What news?” Penelope piped in.

“”Fairchild is to fight Sydney Smith next . . .” Ophelia answered.

“. . . . You know who Smith is, right, Penelope?” Chantelle taunted.

Penelope smiled, and looked over at Missy. She promised she wouldn’t speak after the greeting, and had already broken that vow once. She nodded at Missy to continue.

“We think that a match up between Chantelle and Penelope will be beneficial to both parties, given that Fairchild and Mace are both out of the question at this time. As two of the biggest names in UK Boxing the public would love to watch this fight. And both Chantelle and Penelope, quite frankly, are in need of a big win.”

“Does beating Penelope Primrose still count as a big name win?” replied Ophelia. Chantelle smirked at that. Penelope held her tongue. Actually she bit her tongue trying not to retort.

“The Primrose name is still big news in UK Boxing. Obviously not as big as Daniels’, Mace and Fairchild, but still a name you can put on a marquee.” Penelope gave a sarcastic ‘Thanks for that robust defense of me” thought to what Missy had just said. She knew Missy had to pump up Chantelle to get her to agree to this fight.

“We could just fight another strong contender – Sterling, Kearney, or wait on Smith.”

“You could Ophelia, but waiting on Smith delays Chantelle’s comeback. The fans want to see Chantelle!. Sterling or Kearney doesn’t bring in nearly the gate a Primrose/Daniels bout would. Two former champions battling to see who puts their name at Morgan Mace’s door. Chantelle, as the most recent champion, will get 60% of the gate . . .and all the perks that go with it: coming out last, closer dressing room, choice of TV spots and interviews and training times.”

Before Ophelia could respond, Chantelle swiveled her chair back to facing the table, “Let’s do it! Mum, draw it up! I’ll sign. You sure you want this Primrose? Haven’t you had enough disasters recently?”

“Well yes I have . . . But last I saw you, I had a ringside seat to your stumbling chicken dance as you tried to get off the canvas . . .” Penelope hoped she hadn’t blown it, and dared not look at Missy. It was easy to avoid Missy’s glare, because both Chantelle and Ophelia stood up, and Penelope snickered at the synchronization the two had in rising from their chairs.

Ophelia spoke, with clipped dignity, “We will accept this challenge. Papers will be sent your way.” The Daniels’ had clearly known they would agree to this fight prior to the meeting, and had heard the terms they wanted to hear.

With a little less dignity Chantelle added, ‘You keep eating those pastries you’re gonna lose some more dresses!”

Penelope smiled, and knowing she had the fight she wanted remarked, “You gonna fight in that little silk mini you got on, or did Mace send you back your little sheer skirt thingie? Seems we’ve both been losing wardrobe items!” Penelope took pleasure in the redness that enveloped Chantelle’s face as she exited the room. It had been Chantelle’s great embarrassment having had her skirt yanked off her following her knockout loss to Mace. A humility the UK press was keen on showing over and over again. “Well that was fun! And didn’t even take that long! You want a pastry?”

“You’re incorrigible Penny!”

(To Be Continued)